Maybe the most incomprehensible thing about Shane Carruth’s film Upstream Color is that it is, in fact, comprehensible.

Perhaps.

My previous experience with Carruth was with his 2004 film, Primer, which was a polished gem of a time travel movie that refused to dumb anything down for the sake of comprehensibility.

Upstream Color opens with Kris, a woman played by Amy Seimetz, who is drugged with a substance from a forcibly ingested roundworm that induces extreme psychological malleability. The assailant then essentially hypnotizes her into emptying her bank accounts and makes off with all of her assets. But this isn’t really about Thief (no really, in the credits he’s simply Thief). The theft really only sets the stage for the rest of the film.

A year later, Kris meets Jeff, played by writer/director Carruth, and they fall in love. But the movie isn’t all about boy-meets-girl, secrets revealed, happily ever after, either. That’s certainly a large element in the movie, but also significant is the role of the parasite itself. It’s never fully explained, but we do know that the life cycle consists of the following: a man known as Keeper (actually credited as Sampler) extracts the roundworm from the victim, and then transplants it into one of the pigs he keeps on a pig farm. Any offspring from the pigs are placed in a burlap sack and thrown into a nearby river. The decomposing bodies then release an unnamed compound that is absorbed by a white flower downstream, which then turns blue. The flowers are collected and sold – and it is the blue color that indicates that the drug-secreting worms are present in the potting soil (this is where Thief gets the worms that he uses on the victims).

Still with me? From pig to plant to human to pig: this is the lifecycle of the parasite, and it’s this cycle that unites all of the characters.

So is the movie about unification? Not quite. Sampler is able see out of the eyes of victims through a connection they have with the pigs whose parasites they ingested, and we see their lives after the fact (they are dramatically different, as job loss and financial ruin frequently follow from Thief’s actions).

It’s about connection, then? Closer. One critical view has been that it’s about identity: how it forms, fractures, and then is rebuilt.

To me, the movie is about trauma. Thief at the beginning of the movie victimizes both Kris and Jeff, even though we see only Kris’ experience. After a time skip, we see the two meet and get to know each other. The effects of the trauma are evident on Kris: when the two get coffee, she pulls out her pills and places the bottles on the table, flatly stating, “this is to save us time.” We’re left to conjecture that she’s on the medication due to the financial, emotional, and professional impact of the drug. She now works an entry-level job at a printing and signage shop, a huge step down from the corporate position she held before.

Jeff isn’t fazed, however, and continues to pursue her. Jeff has also suffered similarly, becoming a pariah in his workplace. And so the outcast and the damsel in depression become a team.

These events are also reflected in the lives of their pigs: the two pigs that correspond to Jeff and Kris are found by Sampler to have paired off at the farm, and eventually have a litter of piglets.

When Sampler drowns this litter, Kris runs out of her workplace on the verge of tears, punching through a window as she leaves. Jeff becomes angry, drops a box of papers, and sprints for the exit, bowling over two coworkers on the way.

They find their way to each other, and make their way home. Running inside, buffeted by emotional forces that neither can explain, they crawl into the bathtub, where, surrounded by emergency supplies, in a room lit by flashlight, they hold each other and wait for the storm to pass.

Upstream Color follows the characters after they suffer at the hands of Thief and become part of the life cycle of the parasite, and the movie then shows the aftermath: the tenuous regaining of equilibrium, the aftershocks, the slow recovery, and finally, the taking back of control at the end of the film through the only real plot ‘twist’ (it’s more of a shake-up) in the movie. The importance of the reclamation of agency is explicitly stated (or as close to explicit as the movie ever gets) when Kris warns Jeff before going out with him, “It’s not my fault when things go wrong.” Jeff tellingly replies, “Yes it is.”

As a sensory experience, Upstream Color is distinct from most mainstream movies, although perhaps that owes more to its belonging to the ‘independent’ category (it premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in 2013) with a color palette that makes for a slow moving, evocative journey that is complemented by the ambient soundtrack. Carruth himself composed the music for the film, and it’s perhaps due to his involvement in every major aspect of the movie that it feels so deliberate: it’s not a frou-frou flapping about, but a constructed, defined piece of cinema with a purpose.

Sometimes with Carruth (OK, most times) that purpose is hard to grasp. Carruth isn’t one to spoon-feed the viewer, and this is a demanding film.

Upstream Color is absolutely worth watching. It’s a complex film that defies quick explanation, rife with alternative approaches to direction, narrative, writing, and sound. It’s a film that many of my acquaintances (and yours too, I suspect) would dismiss as too art-house. It’s definitely a film that is on the outer side of the artistic envelope. It’s also a film that I’m still mulling over close to a year after watching it for the first time.

So go do me a favor and watch Upstream Color. And after you’ve finished, come find me and tell me what you thought the movie was about (no seriously; I’ll buy you a cup of coffee). Because I think it’s complicated.

Warren Singh is a bookworm and wiseacre who sometimes goes undercover as a writer. He also occasionally pretends to be studying chemical engineering at Worcester Polytechnic Institute, Worcester, Mass. Sinecures, paeans, and disproportionately massive bribes may be proffered at probablystillsomewhatincorrect.wordpress.com

Decision time, and the fate of the free world hangs in the balance: it’s 1939, and I’ve been put in charge of a new top-secret government project called The Manhattan Project, devoted to developing a game-changing weapon in competition with the Nazis. Given the circumstances, it’s a little nerve-wracking to consider the first thing that I have to do, which is choose a second-in-command to lead the team of physicists that will be the heart and soul of the endeavor.

I’m on page 18 of The Right Decision, an immensely fun read, despite being written like a textbook (which, being published by McGraw Hill, is probably intentional) regarding how to make decisions.

Written by a math professor named James Stein, the book draws from the fields of mathematics and economics (more specifically, decision and game theory) to address better ways of weighing and choosing options. Its chapters are divided into various broad topics: the first part of the book covers an idea central to decision theory, the ‘payoff factor’. Really, it’s a fancy way of saying, ‘what is it that you want out of this?’ Subsequent chapters deal with various ways of assessing the core idea, such as the inadmissibility option (if an option is inferior to other, similar ones, drop it like it’s on fire) or the Bayes criterion (which choice works out best on average?).

Midway, the book takes a pleasantly diverting turn, the reasons for which Stein explains at the beginning. He writes that one doesn’t learn to ride a bike solely by reading about it: you instead take a few core ideas, and then go and practice them until it clicks. Then you vary the situation and do it again. This is what he aims to do with the book, and this is where the fun is. Interspersed through the chapters are problems presented for the reader, in which Stein presents a real or hypothetical scenario and asks what you, the reader, would do. Spanning such diverse scenarios as “my best friend and his girl are having trouble and have broken up, when can I make a move for her” to “in what direction should you take your multinational corporation at this critical juncture,” these problems are immensely entertaining.

The author writes that he hopes that doing these puzzles will be just as entertaining as crosswords or Sudoku, but with the added benefit of helping us make decisions. Stein offers 28 scenarios, complete with solutions. He advises tackling one a day for a month, with the hope that at the end of it, the reader will have vastly improved decision-making skills.

Stein argues that we are the sum of our decisions, his point being that our decisions won’t always lead to good things, as the real world frequently has factors that we can’t influence, but over the long haul good decisions tend to add up better than bad ones.

It reminded me of a championship poker player, who wrote that poker is a discrete game: that is, all the odds are known. If all the odds are known by everyone at the table, then what separates champions from the merely adequate? Well, as he explains, even though the probabilities in poker are well defined, it is possible to make the correct play (there’s always a correct play, given that the probabilities are limited) and lose. A champion player is someone who can make the right play five times in a row, lose five times in a row, and the sixth time, still make the correct play.

The Right Decision doesn’t pretend to deal a winning hand, much less guarantee a good payoff. But it does teach one how to assess the odds, which is oddly liberating. In the end, there are no guarantees, and all we can do is play a beautiful game.

Warren Singh is a bookworm and wiseacre who sometimes goes undercover as a writer. He also occasionally pretends to be studying chemical engineering at Worcester Polytechnic Institute, Worcester, Mass. Sinecures, paeans, and disproportionately massive bribes may be proffered at probablystillsomewhatincorrect.wordpress.com

As a niña, the smells of rice, beans, and plantains seeping beneath my grandparents’ door were so strong that I believed they possessed magic. Like fairy dust, the perfume would billow through the cracks and spread down the retirement home’s hallway, putting every other apartment under my grandparents’ velvety Dominican spell.

Today, as a high school junior, I find my grandmother’s cooking no less enchanting. I ascend in the building’s elevator, and anxiety weighs heavier with each passing floor. I mentally prep my brain for rapid translations, verb conjugations, topics of conversation, until — Ding. The elevator doors open and an immediate plume of warmth melts my nervousness.

I stand and read the bronzed numbers on the last door on the right. 455. Quatrocientos

cincuenta y cinco?My Spanish is not what it should be. I knock.The door opens and my grandfather beams at me.

“¡Hola chica! ¿Como estás?”

“¡Hola abuelo!” These words I know, having used the greeting countless times over the years. I feel safe and relaxed in my grandfather’s strong embrace.

“Abigalita.” From behind, a different, gentler voice. Mi abuelita. I turn and smile into the deep glimmer in her wise eyes–ponds sparkling under moonlight. Her wrinkles swell and recede as she smiles up at me. A brown, weathered canvas of strength, each line and etched tale of strength, joy and, of course, grief. My father’s passing undoubtedly left emotional and physical scarring. I have had several years to mourn and cope with the loss, but each visit is a reminder of all of the possible conversations between my grandparents and I that never happen because of my rudimentary Spanish skills.

In the 1970’s, my grandparents emigrated from the Dominican Republic with their four sons. They worked in New York City, diligently crafting a better future for their family and unborn generations. But the land of opportunity came at a price. By the time their grandchildren came along, both my abuela and abuelo were far too oriented to their native tongue. We were free to enjoy each other’s food and company; however, my grandparents’ and I lacked the foundation of a shared language.

They did not give up, however. I remember at the age of five joining them at their English classes and “assisting” the teacher each day. My grandfather learned to string together phrases in the strange, new language, but my grandmother had a harder time. Thus, I’ve learned to read the “context clues”– body language, facial expressions, and hand gestures– to decipher her meanings.

“Abigailita, ¿Quieres comer?” My grandmother motions to the dining room table and pulls out a chair.

The table is filled with pastelitos, yuca, beans and other delicious dishes. The three of us join hands, my clammy fingers and chipped black nail polish against the smooth, cocoa-butter enriched grooves and arches of their palms. I squeeze tightly and lower my head.

They wish me a successful junior year of high school, good health and good grades and that God gives me a long life with joy, happiness, and–a good sweater? Wait, suerte doesn’t mean sweater, it means luck. They ask that God grant us many meals in the future and that God looks after Ramon.

Ramon. It’s my father’s name–his real name, not the Anglicized “Ray” that I heard most often. I repeat it in my head, rolling the “r” and emphasizing the “mon.” I repeat it once more, aloud, and raise my head as a pause of silence blankets our prayer circle. My grandfather’s eyes are brimming with tears. I hug him and smile. We say “Amen.”

***

I am flourishing under the parenting of my Irish-American mother and Italian-American stepfather–two amazing, nurturing, loving parents. Yet when I’m with my grandparents, we three always seem silently aware of the absence of Ramon, Ray, their son, my dad. This absence of a wnoderful man is like a branch broken from our family tree. But between mouthfuls of rice and circles of prayer, I recognize the tree’s undying strength. I feel safe and loved under its shade.

Abby Frias is a student in the Wachusett Regional School District. She hopes to pursue a writing career and study political science in college.

To be clear: I am not here to talk about what’s punk and what’s not. As much as I’d like to have the authority to do so, my knowledge of punk is scant compared to what I really love – pop. And while the two may seem to be diametrically opposed, it seems to me that pop is beginning to take a few small but visible notes from punk’s playbook.

Pop culture infiltrates our lives – in fashion, film, slang, TV – trickling through our minds, memories, and conversations in big and small ways, but perhaps most obviously in music. And right now – sorry guys – women own the playing field. The influence these women can have (and are already having) on thousands of girls today could be immense, but what are we actually learning from them? And is it really as bad as some people seem to think?

Exhibit A: Taylor Swift. Undeniably attractive as she may be, the seven-time Grammy winner is also undeniably more conservative than most of her other female pop peers, somehow remaining as innocent and adorable as when she released her debut album in 2006; for all we know, Ms. Swift has been completely sober and sexless for all her twenty five enchanting years on earth. Despite the self-professed confessional nature of her songwriting, criticism of what some may call an obsession with boys continues to crop up year after year. Referred to as “a feminist’s nightmare” by Jezebel, Swift has publicly admitted that her relationships are most often what inspires the strong feelings behind her songs, with countless defenders who thrive on the connection built between the artist and fans in hearing familiar stories and moments retold in such an articulate, relatable voice. What some interpret to be a “feminist’s nightmare” is Swift’s apparent inability to write about anything but these relationships, with haters arguing that the lyrical message of her music is little more than simply, BOYS; fans, however, see something very different.

NPR interestingly called Swift a “princess of punk” upon the release of her fourth album, Red, in 2012,commenting on the noticeably new attitude of the songs and noting that Swift’s growth is evident in the tones of both anger and acceptance (as opposed to what might have previously been called whining and obsession) felt throughout the album. Swift’s maturation is by far most visible in light of her newly-released fifth studio album, 1989, and is perhaps most palpable in the single “Blank Space” and its music video. In what the New York Times called a “metanarrative” about her reputation as a perpetually lovelorn, occasionally clingy ex-girlfriend, Swift seems to have directly dedicated “Blank Space” to her haters, shamelessly acknowledging her notoriety in lines like “You look like my next mistake” and the gleefully knowing chorus, “Got a long list of ex-lovers / They’ll tell you I’m insane / But you know I love the players / And you love the game.” The accompanying video brings Swift’s self-awareness to a new level, following a traditional fairy-tale love story and featuring caricatures of Swift’s alternately girl-next-door and crazy-ex personas, teaching us just as much about rolling with the punches and knowing yourself as her earlier songs did with issues of growing up and dealing with young love and heartbreak. Swift is in good company though: fellow pop princess Lana Del Rey also defied the mainstream culture by abandoning the reputation built by hip-hop inspired Born to Die (2012) when packing her second album Ultraviolence (2014) full of slow, psychedelic songs, none of which make the traditional three-minute radio cut. Del Rey took a bow to her skeptics as well, most notably in the Ultraviolence song “Brooklyn Baby,” which highlights haters’ perceptions of the artist whom Rolling Stone called “rock’s saddest, baddest diva” as an unapologetic hipster. Swift may have taken a note from Del Rey’s book as she gave her haters exactly what they were looking for in “Blank Space.” Though Swift’s sugar-sweet, pure-as-a-virgin image may have made (and continues to make) her music marketable to younger listeners and often causes older ones to undermine or disregard her music, Swift is undeniably succeeding in the powerful cultural position she holds – in fact, because her sound is so accessible to young girls, she is actually instilling her ideas of how to work through relationships and expressing strong feelings in girls at a younger age – kind of empowering, right? And isn’t that the kind of ability we’d like our daughters growing up with?

The one girl who probably has the most to say on growing up is actually the youngest of most pop stars on the radar right now. At 16, Lorde topped the U.S. Billboard Charts in 2013 with her hit “Royals,” from her debut album, Pure Heroine (the name itself basically says all you need to know). Now, at 18 years old, Lorde remains admirable in a traditional sense — incredibly talented, wildly successful — yet at the same time “punk” in the way she defies our expectations; a 16-year-old girl writes an album almost entirely absent of boys, romance, or sex? Her incredibly impressive debut instead focused mainly on the concept of youth and the strangeness of getting older, a theme as universal as Ms. Swift’s obsession with writing about boys. “Royals” even challenges the elements of songs on the radio as of late: “But every song’s like gold teeth, Grey Goose, trippin’ in the bathroom / blood stains, ball gowns, trashin’ the hotel room / we don’t care.” How punk is it to write a number one international hit song that rolls its eyes at every other number one hit?

And then there’s Miley. Once the woman of the hour, arguably old news, yet consistently relevant and discussed amongst fans and cynics alike.

Ridding herself of the long, luscious, Hannah Montana locks in favor of a Twiggy-inspired shaved head and bleach blonde bangs, and crowned as “Princess of Twerk” by tabloids everywhere.. Cyrus has gone through an incredible transformation. Under intense public scrutiny for the majority of her life, the singer received shocking amounts of negative publicity in the aftermath of the controversial 2013 VMA performance. Her public sexuality and discussion of drug use has been criticized as an overly dramatic way of saying, “Y’all check me out, I’m not a kid anymore,” and her carefree attitude towards the situation has upset parents telling CNN they are now forced to think that Cyrus does not either a) care what her younger fans think of her or b) hasn’t even bothered to think of what her actions are doing to her image…but isn’t that what continues to make her so awesome?

miley cyrus performing in london

Despite the scandal created around her new look, Cyrus is flourishing more than ever because she simply does not care – which is why VICE magazine even went so far as to call her “the most punk rock musician around” at the height of her controversy. Subsequent appearances on Saturday Night Live and The Ellen Show proved her capacity for eloquence, honesty, and a good sense of humor (about herself) and what it’s like to suddenly be the most talked-about person in the world. She’s not perfect, but she’s rich, pretty, and testing her limits, paving the way for her own independent image, trying to figure out who she is.

That Cyrus can disguise her fourth album, Bangerz, (which is, in fact, a breakup album) as what most angelheaded hipsters would write off as another shitty pop record trying too hard to get in the Top 40 is actually an incredible feat. When some girls might be tempted to fill their album with acoustic emotion and bittersweet strings, Cyrus shook off her broken engagement with actor Liam Hemsworth by reestablishing her confidence in herself: “So don’t you worry ‘bout me, Imma be okay / Imma do my thang.” The lyrics of the album tell the story of real feelings, but the upbeat quality of most of the songs instills a sense of conviction and empowerment – occasionally admitting to unhappiness, but never giving in to it. “Wrecking Ball” is the obvious exception, but we can allow her a few minutes of sadness, right? And can we please allow her to wear what she wants? To dance how she wants? Though the initial hysteria surrounding the transformation of Ms. Cyrus has faded, I think it’s important to remember how harshly and cynically many of us reacted. Everyone has (had) at least a little bit of Miley in us, in our reckless, fun, experimental youth. We watched her evolve and now here she is, and some people still want to criticize her for not keeping things PG? All I can say is: grow up.

Rock critic Lester Bangs said that “punk represents a fundamental and age-old Utopian dream: that if you give people the license to be as outrageous as they want in absolutely any fashion they can dream up, they’ll be creative about it, and do something good besides.” Not to say that girls like Miley, Taylor Swift, Lana Del Rey, and Lorde are punk musicians — not at all — but they’re bringing an element of the tradition into mainstream popular music. The women of pop are stronger than ever as they continue to top the charts, make bank, and make the news every week, joining the ranks of Beyoncé, Lady Gaga, and other established queens of the radio. As they use their words, sounds, and images to express themselves with confidence and be who they choose to be, listeners of our generation should feel more and more comfortable following suit. Punk is, after all, “just another word for freedom.”

Editor’s Note: An earlier version of this article appeared in the magazine STIR in 2013.

Sasha Kohan is a student at Clark University, Worcester, Mass., studying English and Screen Studies.

Walk into any sci-fi convention like Comic-Con and you’re bound to find a few people dressed as metal-encased Daleks and hear the buzzing of a sonic screwdriver. You may even run into attendees wearing bowties or curiously striped scarves and shouting “Allons-y!” If these elements don’t ring a bell, you’re most likely part of the ever-decreasing population of Americans who are unfamiliar with the British television show and cultural phenomenon, Doctor Who.

After celebrating its 51st anniversary last year, Doctor Who is as popular as ever. Throughout its long history, the premise has remained the same: an alien time-traveler, a Time Lord called the Doctor, scoops up various companions and shows them the universe via his living time machine, a blue police box called the T.A.R.D.I.S, which stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space (a police box is an obsolete telephone callbox for use by the police). Every so often, the Doctor regenerates, meaning his body and personality changes in response to a deadly force. This plot line and the constant replacement of the Doctor’s companions have allowed the show to continue more than half a century.

The show has had its ups and downs in the U.K., including the series’ cancellation in 1989 and a 1996 film version that received a lukewarm response. However, the revived series that began in 2005 has returned the show to its former popularity and more.

Alan Kistler, author of Doctor Who: A History, is familiar with how the show has changed over the years.

“In the revival series, I think the first two years were a major high point, redefining the show and stripping the mythology of Doctor Who back to basics–a strange and mysterious alien on his own who wanted to explore the impossible,” said Kistler. “By 2005, you also had the BBC now adopting what had been successful in the U.S. in making science fiction shows more mainstream.”

The show was not completely new to the U.S. Some of the pre-2005 episodes were shown on PBS, but they didn’t catch on. SyFy offered the revived series but was unable to achieve the necessary audience. Then, in 2009, BBC America started airing current episodes at roughly the same time as they were broadcast in the U.K. It was a success. The premiere of the fifth series in 2010 had 1.2 million viewers, according to The Hollywood Reporter, which at the time was a record for any show on BBC America.

“BBC America started a stronger U.S. advertising campaign starting with season 6, so that’s definitely pushed its popularity further,” said Kistler.

Three years later, the 50th anniversary special was shown in 94 countries on six continents, achieving the Guinness World Record for the largest simulcast of a TV drama. Many of these viewers were in the U.S., one of the few countries in which the special was also shown in theaters.

Since last year it has become even more popular, with the premiere of the eighth series on August 23, 2014 attracting 2.58 million viewers, making it the highest rated premiere ever on BBC America, according to TV By the Numbers.

Glenn Grothaus is a Doctor Who enthusiast from St. Louis, Missouri, who started watching the show in 2010 and has been a fan, or “Whovian,” ever since. Last summer he attended the St. Louis Comic-Con and was pleased to meet Matt Smith, the actor who played the Eleventh Doctor.

“I had heard about Doctor Who but was under the misperception that it was some weird British sci-fi show,” said Grothaus. “But I liked the idea of them [the Doctor and his assistants] wanting to do good.”

The show began to catch on here with people such as Grothaus for a multitude of additional reasons. For example, some recent episodes have been set in the U.S. and a native of Scotland with an American accent, John Barrowman, was cast as recurring supporting character, Jack Harkness. Several episodes were also filmed in the U.S., such as one that takes place in Manhattan.

“There’s no set genre or interpretation, so people can take what they wish from the show,” said Kistler.

Peter Capaldi and Jenna Coleman on the Empire State Building / BBC

Also, the Internet and social media have been instrumental in the show’s globalization.

“Streaming services have allowed Americans to catch up on the new show very easily,” said Kistler. “Before, fans might have been the only person in their class or workplace to like Doctor Who. Now, even if that’s the case, Twitter and Tumblr are full of online communities that encourage each other to watch and discuss more of the show.”

“I actually went to the St. Louis Science Center for a Doctor Who night,” Grothaus said. This included speakers, exhibits, and showings of several episodes. “They never would have had that 10 years ago. But it’s global now.”

At Comic-Con, Grothaus saw Matt Smith’s panel and the demand for Doctor Who right in the middle of the country.“[Matt Smith] said he was amazed by how the popularity here has exploded in the past several years,” Grothaus said.

Grothaus said that the Comic-Con panel also included fans that had been unusually moved by the show, including a young girl struggling with mental illness who said that Doctor Who showed her the importance of hope and perseverance.

Grothaus also observed that the show’s themes of equality and social justice seemed to appeal to many younger Americans.

However, this successful expansion of the franchise is not without dissent: some fans of the classic series do not approve of its globalization and feel that it has lost its characteristic British tone. Amanda Keats of Yahoo TV: U.K. & Ireland cites the Eleventh Doctor’s memorable wearing of a Stetson hat and the inclusion of characters that are CIA agents.

Some long-time fans that Grothaus saw at Comic-Con may have shared this view, but he noted that they were generally accepting of new fans.

“They were totally encouraging the younger fans to jump in,” he said.

Grothaus is an elementary school teacher and sees first-hand how Doctor Who appeals to children. “It speaks to all ages,” he said. “It’s universal in its themes of loyalty, adventure, bravery, and sacrifice. And when you have that, you can reach anyone, no matter what age, gender, or race.”

Alexandra D’Ordine is majoring in Biochemistry and Professional Writing at Worcester Polytechnic Institute, Worcester, Mass. She enjoys writing about anything from popular culture to science, playing piano (particularly Chopin), and learning as much as possible.

Gloria Cadder is a senior at Brandeis University in Waltham, Mass. Her work has appeared in Tethered by Letters, Laurel Moon, Where the Children Play, and the Brandeis Law Journal. See more of her work at morethanamovie.com.

Well, I did it: I finally forced myself to watch some of the “classics” I’ve somehow missed on my inadvertent journey to becoming a Screen Studies major. By compiling a list of every movie I am ashamed to have never seen and forcing my friends to initial the ones they wouldn’t mind watching twice, I figured I had set myself up for success, achievement, culture, education. I chose Easy Rider (1969, Dennis Hopper), The Birds (1963, Alfred Hitchcock), and Blue Velvet (1986, David Lynch).

hitchcock with avian friend during the making of “The birds,” 1963

And now, here I am, trying to consider exactly what I’ve seen.

I’ve seen a lot of things.

I’ve seen a man with bloodstained holes where his eyes used to be, another gruesomely stabbed to death in a sleeping blanket, and a group of gangsters moved to tears by a lip-synched rendition of “In Dreams.” More unsettling, I’ve seen Dennis Hopper as both one half of a freedom-chasing, drug-using motorcycle duo and as a sadomasochistic sociopath who gets off wearing a gas mask. Perhaps even more unsettling still, I’ve seen a vulnerable Jack Nicholson (vulnerable? Jack Nicholson?) succumb to the peer pressure of two freewheeling hippies and anxiously take a hit of his first joint.

Needless to say, these movies have left me with a lot on my mind, while 20 years of life and education have left me with an infuriatingly insufficient ability to articulate it all. I’ve nearly finished the course requirements that fulfill my Screen Studies major thus far, and as a result I can critically examine the meaning of certain camera angles, costume decisions, light temperature, and transitions, among other details. I could point out the total absence of non-diegetic music in the soundtrack of The Birds, how horribly the silences enhance the anticipation of impending crowing sounds, how starkly it contrasts with the feel-good road trip playlist of Easy Rider and the recurring nominal theme of Blue Velvet. I could analyze Hopper’s jarring quick cuts back and forth from present to future, scene to scene, and explain how such an unconventional technique underlines how strange the easygoing motorcycle life seemed to the square society surrounding Billy and the aptly and unsubtly named Captain America. And I could talk about how Blue Velvet – well, I wouldn’t even know where to start.

But this is the trouble when movie lovers become film students. Once you are trained in the art of noticing technicalities, the ability to simply sit back and watch a movie slowly but surely evolves into a constant process of interpretation and evaluation, until you suddenly find yourself reading an impossible amount into every romantic comedy and action movie you see with your family, and they all get sick of you asking what they thought because “I liked it” is no longer good enough. Frankly, and from a film student’s unrelenting eye, the movies I watched are so rich with deliberate mysteries, I feel I could write a thesis for each one in an attempt to solve it all – but there is a thin thread tying together my discombobulated train of thoughts. Hanging over my mental rubble is a hazy but discernible smog, an overwhelming and conflicted sense of America.

Dennis hopper charms kyle maclachlan

But what else is new, really? On-screen, off-screen – the Americas are the same.

Though these films are aesthetically dated in ways that could never be recreated now without accusations of insincerity or that unconvincing, too-smooth Hollywood glow, I was surprised (I don’t know why) to realize that, in theory, America is just as terrifying as it always has been. Whether I imagined the past or the present as more of a golden age I couldn’t say; I have just always been under the impression that something fundamental had changed between “now” and “then,” but now, I’m not so sure. A while back, I recall posting a rare politically-charged status on Facebook regarding the Supreme Court decision which allows corporations to refuse contraception health coverage, openly wondering how we’ve allowed things to get so unreasonably out of control. (I try to keep these comments few and far between – sooner or later, everyone starts to hate that one person who posts too much of a too-strong opinion). Through my passionately confused, concerned fit of outrage, dulled only by the silent, padded walls of the Internet, I was suddenly reminded of Easy Rider’s tagline: “A man went looking for America. And couldn’t find it anywhere.” Then an image of Blue Velvet struck me, vaguely – white picket fence, green grass, red roses, and all the filth that lives beneath.

dennis hopper and peter fonda in “easy rider”

America. Looking. Can’t find. Anywhere.

It was all so big, I wasn’t sure if the links were truly there or if I had imagined them in a desperate attempt to create some meaning in my stupid life – and then – Godzilla! The Birds! Apocalypse! America! It was there, all there! It was all one horrible, beautiful web of fiction and lies, of myth and reality, of now and then, of me and of them.

What really unites The Birds, Blue Velvet, and Easy Rider, is the responsibility of the individual, and the deeply significant absence of love. Whether or not this is indicative of some universal lack of love for the American Dream is relevant in some ways, but irrelevant in others. Human relationships, whether between Tippi Hedren and her handsome pet store customer, Blue Velvet‘s young hero and his high school lover, or Billy and Captain America, are irrelevant to these stories. While flirtation, sex, and friendship do exist and move the plot, the utter emptiness of these relationships mainly highlight the utter emptiness of these characters and the world they live in – that is to say, America. Things have changed – the specifics, yes (the distinctly eighties hair, the sixties cinematography, the political context, the popular culture) – but what struck a nerve in me was realizing how true these movies still are, and how alone we and you and I often feel in the universal longing to do or make something worthwhile, in this world or in ourselves, asking, is this the way to live?

Perhaps, as it so often happens, I’m reading too much into things. Perhaps I’m a twenty-something cynic, doomed to a life of reading Dostoevsky with troubled, furrowed brows. Or perhaps I ought to buy a pack of cigarettes and Mrs. Wagner’s pies, walk off, and look for something better than the America found here.

Sasha Kohan is a student at Clark University, Worcester, Mass., pursuing a degree in English and Screen Studies.

Your eyes, they show it.The expression is synthetic.Raised brow, awkward grin.Your usual half-smile thatOnly shines to the left is notProper. Hands folded, oneOn the other, noBent fingers or spaces between,Pressed stiffly on a blockWith a less than clever “B,”Made for infants (and picture day.)You twist your head untilIt strains your neck, chin up. chin up.This is how people wantTo see you, hair solidWith spray, wearing a shirtThat you will never wear again—Molded clay in a metal chair.Wait for the click. Relax.

Dylan Dodd studies English at Worcester State University and loves nature, the arts, and the way life works. More of his work my be found at www.dylantdodd.wordpress.com.

Two years ago, yearning to relieve the monotony of a four-day family road trip, I happened upon a novel entitled The Strange Affair of Spring-Heeled Jack by Mark Hodder. According to the synopsis on the back, Sir Richard Burton, Victorian-era explorer and agent of the Queen, was heading into Victorian London’s slums in search of arch-criminal Jack. The synopsis seemed interesting enough, and the cover involved some sort of interesting stilt-walking figure wreathed in blue lightning, so I bought it.

I’d visited London before, and thoroughly enjoyed it. However, real-world London had nothing on Hodder’s version, which was populated not only by the expected lofty lords and cursing cabbies, but also by genetically engineered werewolves, clockwork automatons, and a man who had transplanted his brain into an orangutan. Colossal airships blotted out the sun. Historical figures had been somewhat modified. For instance, in Hodder’s London, Isambard Kingdom Brunel, Victorian-era engineer, survived beyond his presumed death in an enormous steam-powered mech-suit. Somehow, I don’t suspect that the real Brunel accomplished such a feat.

Oh, and as it turns out, Spring-Heeled Jack was a time-traveller.

I had next to no idea what I was reading, but I loved it. Through blind luck, I had stumbled upon steampunk.

Well, consider my monotony relieved.

As a literary genre, steampunk involves the fantastical juxtaposition of the technology and beliefs of the Victorian era with those of today. This anachronism results in such contraptions as clockwork robots and galleons that hover on the aether. Mike Perschon, Professor of English at MacEwan University, proposes on his blog, The Steampunk Scholarthat steampunk is characterized by three things: technology powered by dubious or unexplained science, a Victorian-era aesthetic, and an exploration of how the men and women of the past imagined their future. Thus the clockwork robots, and much else.

Steampunk also influences fashion and art. Designers incorporate Victorian garments and airship goggles into their outfits, while artists build modern relics that echo the magnificence of the past. For instance, renowned steampunk craftsman Jake von Slatt modified the pictured guitar by electrolytically etching cogs onto its faceplate.

jake von slatt and his steampunk guitar / jake von slatt

However, when steampunk bleeds beyond the written word and into other cultural phenomena, such as fashion, music, or art, its definition quickly grows less distinct. Primarily, this stems from steampunk’s appeal to those countercultural souls who actively defy definition. Many who incorporate steampunk elements into their artwork do so as a rebellion against popular culture. Therefore, as soon as popular culture begins to understand the steampunk movement, its adherents change its definition.

At first, I was a bit put off by steampunk’s emphasis on rebellion, which had always seemed destructive and ugly to me. However, I came to find steampunk’s take on rebellion fascinating, because it focuses not on destruction, but creation. Steampunk artists, designers, and musicians declare their disdain for some facet of modern culture not by tearing it down but by designing something new and beautiful to take its place. These artists are often referred to simply as “makers,” and for good reason, since they build fantastical devices the likes of which this world has never before seen.

Perhaps most visibly, steampunk rebels against the impersonal nature of modern technology. Many steampunk artists find themselves dismayed by the mass-produced, homogenized gadgets that fill modern markets. Goggles firmly in place, these adventurous souls construct the personalized, artistic technology that they wish was more prevalent in the world. Thomas Willeford, a maker who works mostly in leather, and who built the marvelous ornithopter backpack pictured, points out that “something can be very functional and still have a sense of beauty about it. Where are the wood-grain laptops? Where are the beautifully picture-framed monitors that are commercially available? The monitor is made from induction-molded plastic. It wouldn’t be that much harder to make it look better.”

THOMAS WILLEFORD’S ORNITHOPTER BACKPACK / JESSE WALKER

Steampunk also objects to modern technology’s mechanical incomprehensibility to the average man or woman. In the Victorian era, most technology, involving nothing more than pressurized air and cogs, was understandable without years of specialized study. Williford explained that, instead of presenting iDevices and laptops that seem almost magical in their cryptic operations, “steampunk likes to say, ‘Here’s how our science works. See this steam engine here?'”

The leatherworker bemoans our age’s lack of practical know-how. “I find the inability of people to use tools to be rather abhorrent,” he said. “It is the opposite of being self-sufficient and self-powered. The ability to use tools makes one better prepared for adversity.”

Steampunk suggests a single solution to these many issues: build the type of technology that you want to see in the world, and build it with your own hands. Through this experimentation with technology, often referred to as “tinkering,” steampunk devotees not only make themselves more mechanically knowledgable and capable, but simultaneously create art. Thus, again, the movement eschews the destruction of the unsatisfactory in favor of the creation of something better.

Wearers of steampunk fashion act in a similar manner, casting aside modern dress in favor of top hats, vests, goggles, corsets, and all manner of brass bits and bobs. Styles range from simple hats and vests to such gloriously inconvenient contraptions as Willeford’s ornithopter backpack. Disappointed with the ripped jeans and brand-name sweatshirts of today? Why not wear the sophisticated suits and gowns of yesterday? Some steampunk devotees do just that, while others wear clothing inspired by the practical, utilitarian garb of the Victorian-era worker, the better to hold all of their tinkering tools. Once again, steampunk advocates the creation of a fantastical Victorian-inspired alternative to a less-than-fantastical aspect of modern life.

Mark Eliot Schwabe, a “SteamSmith” / Mark Eliot Schwabe

Mark Eliot Schwabe, a “SteamSmith” who designs intricate metal brooches and charms with airship motifs, contends that steampunk also encourages rebellion through sheer politeness, in an echo of the refined etiquette of the Victorian age. Schwabe notes that one of the reasons he was attracted to steampunk was that when he first encountered it was that, in those days, “our American society was not as well-mannered as it is, actually, now. People were all too frequently in your face. And Victorian manners were a refreshing alternative to that.”

Willeford also objects to modern rudeness, which, he said, is too often passed off as harsh honesty. “Bludgeoning people with ‘honesty’ is rude and, worse, it’s lazy,” he said. “When you take the time to be polite to the people around you, you are telling them that they are worth that time.” In this way, Steampunk combats modern rudeness through imitation of the manners of a more refined age, another of its anachronistic solutions to the less pleasant aspects of modern life.

Not everyone is persuaded of Steampunk’s cultural significance. English professor Mike Perschon, who teaches at MacEwan University in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, claims that the ethos of steampunk culture has strayed from that of steampunk literature, which does not often incorporate the same countercultural ideals. He also believes that other forms of steampunk do not have the significance that many devotees attribute to them. While studying the genre, he far more often encountered “steampunk that just wanted to tell a ripping good yarn” than steampunk advocating countercultural ideals. In addition, while some members of the steampunk community see steampunk as a statement that “we’re disillusioned with the iPod world we inhabit,” when he has visited steampunk conventions, he has noticed fans toting “a lot of iPods.”

“Steampunk won’t change the world,” he said. “People will.” He alluded to a story Jake von Slatt had shared with him about some steampunk friends of his who volunteered repairing bicycles in Africa. “That’s world-changing,” Perschon said. “But as I understand it, none of them were dressed in goggles or top hats when they did it. “

airship brooch / MARK ELIOT SCHWABE

Maybe steampunk won’t change the world on its own, but it might just point the world in the right direction. After all, making our society more individualized, polite, and self-sufficient certainly qualifies as a noble cause. Certainly, the modern world proves far superior to the Victorian era in many ways, but perhaps the turning of the years has taken something away from us, too. Perhaps too much of our technology and culture has become, in the words of Schwabe the SteamSmith, “same-same.”

“I think many people worldwide have felt the need to individualize and personalize and customize objects and experiences,” Schwabe says, “and steampunk is an excellent vehicle for doing just that.”

Kieran Sheldon admits that he is a bit odd. His myriad pastimes include playing nerdy board games, wearing top hats, and growing carnivorous plants. He also writes a good deal of fantasy and science fiction, but never without his trusty pirate squid, Cal, at his side. He is a junior at Bancroft School in Worcester, Massachusetts.

Last summer I decided I would stay in my college town of Worcester, Mass, rather than return home. I picked up a job in Admissions and an internship at the Worcester Art Museum, and, for the first time in my life, I found myself on a nine-to-five, Monday-through-Friday schedule. The weekends were mine. Work ended at 5 p.m. on Friday and did not require my attention until 9 a.m. Monday. No homework. No appointments. I remember that first weekend kicking around my apartment, unsure of what to do with myself.

“Get used to it,” my Dad said, laughing. He’s been doing this for decades.

The profound realization that I was about to begin seeing a whole new kind of freedom was disconcerting. I felt like a domesticated eagle being pushed out of its cage and into the wild for the first time. What exactly was I supposed to do?

The next Saturday, I opted for change. I had a list of tucked-away used bookstores within one gas-tank’s driving distance. For the remainder of the summer, I decided, I would take one of my days off and just drive somewhere. Drive and find books, sit in coffee shops, see things.

My first trip was to Montague, Mass, which had a highly rated used bookstore called the Book Mill. Sixty miles away and on country roads—they seemed like country roads to me—I decided I would spend three hours of round trip travel to go to a bookstore.

nick porcella

Though their slogan read “Books you don’t need in a place you can’t find!” I found them. Challenge complete! The Book Mill was a complex of different shops. There was the main book shop, yes, but also two restaurants, a music store, and an art gallery. All of the buildings, which were a part of the 1834 Montague Mill, overlooked the waterfall that gave the Millers Falls segment of town its name.

The place was brilliant. I loved the cozy atmosphere and the well-organized, diverse assortment of books. I spent some time in the Classics section, followed by Art (I always save Fiction and Literature for last). There were seats that encouraged people to sit down and read, and I found the perfect spot overlooking the waterfall. I sat and read a long while. It was one of those rare days where I actually thought I had a better time wandering lonely as a cloud. I hadn’t told anyone about my journey.

My pleasurable loneliness didn’t last long. The pictures of Montague that I posted online were a hit, and pretty soon I had friends wanting to tag along on a book adventure. A few weeks later I picked a random Sunday (it turned out to be Father’s Day—sorry, Dad) to visit the Book Barn in Niantic, Conn. My friends Margaret and Zena joined me for the car ride down I-395.

nick porcella

The Book Barn was broken up into four sections, each with a different flavor: Midtown, Downtown, Annex, and something called Store 4. We began at the Midtown store. Midtown alone impressed, almost to a scary degree when we realized that the Annex was even bigger. This Midtown section was a maze!(ing). Books in nooks in corners—everywhere! Midtown had tens of thousands of books, maybe even a six-figure book selection. And this was just one store of four? Score! More! Books galore!

We decided that any store with such obscure sections as Glass Collecting and Dinosaurs for Youth would contain many hidden gems. So, we paid for what we had accumulated from Midtown, dropped the first load at the car, and proceeded to the Downtown Book Barn. We bought more books there and then made a stop at Lollipops and Gumdrops, where we ordered old-fashioned milkshakes and ice cream, and, with a sugar-boost and rested legs, continued our book shopping adventures.

We ended the day at the Book Barn Annex, the largest of the four sections, where we found hundreds of thousands of books spread over several buildings in a complex. By the end of the day we were punch-drunk from staring at books for hours and none of us had the stomach for Store 4. We left with a trunk full of books.

Everything had worked out absolutely perfectly, we agreed. We had found the place and we had shopped for hours.

We ended our summer of book trips by heading out to Northampton. Zena joined me for this trip, as well.

nick porccella

The long day of book-looking began at Raven Book Store. By now, we felt like experts. We were no longer surprised to find tens of thousands of books lining miles of shelf space. We no longer were shocked to be in aisles wide enough for only one set of shoulders. We also became more selective, especially knowing that there were at least a half-dozen other stores to visit. So at Raven, as well as at the next stop, the Old Book Store, neither Zena nor I bought anything. Each store probably had 30,000 used books. Each was entered through lower level basement-type doors. But for me at least, I was like a spoiled child: I had seen this all before.

Then there was Gabriel Books; or, the place that spoiled me all over again. Walking down Main Street past myriad sculptures, farmers markets, coffee shops, and young couples—indeed, all some of the things that make Northampton so spectacularly rich a community—we found Market Street. A few hundred feet down Market was Gabriel Books. A small store absolutely packed with goodies, Gabriel’s boasts an excellent selection of literary fiction, history, and rare finds, all packed in. We could hardly turn in the aisles.

Very close to Gabriel Books we found Metropolitan Used & Rare Books and Records, amusingly located at 9¾ Market Street.

After lunch, we took a short ride to Hadley, which borders Northampton. There was one book store in the area, Grey Matter Books. There was no website for the place, but we figured we would give it a try.

We headed down Main Street towards Hadley. About three miles or so later we saw two small blue signs, one reading “Grey Matter Books 2/10 Mile” and the other “Troubadour Books 2/10 Mile” as well as directional signs pointing us left at the next set of traffic lights. We turned left and held our breath.

We could not find the place. East Street seemed nothing but farm land. After driving up and down several times, we saw a small red sign through the trees. This led us to a one-lane dirt road and then to a big red barn, and there it was, under a canopy of verdant trees. No wonder the guide book reads, “We apologize in advance for any difficulty in finding us.”

Inside we found the single greatest place in the history of humanity. The music in the background was hypnotic, a mixture of tingling indie music. There were sections like Books of the Weird and even Hypnosis. There were rare books, first editions, and signed books. And since Troubadour Books and Grey Matter Books had evidently merged, there were two sections of everything.

The Melville selections were particularly impressive, and I bought almost everything they had, as well as a first edition printing of J.D. Salinger’s Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour: An Introduction. The guy at the register gave me a 10% discount. I could have spent much, much more.

At this point, Zena and I were beginning to droop, but we had had too much success to quit now. Driving back towards Northampton, we went the opposite direction on Main Street to get to our penultimate book stop. In Bookends Bookstore, I managed to find the exact edition of a book I needed for a class, brand new, yet cheaper than any used copies I had seen online.

And finally to our last stop, which was in Easthampton. Finding White Square Fine Books and Art, we parked on the narrow main street and headed inside. This bookstore was more upscale in décor than the other stores, but the prices were still reasonable. Paying for my 1892 copy of Melville’s Omoo, we left just before they closed around five o’clock.

We strolled down the street to check out the scenery and were rewarded with the sight of a beautiful mountainside overlooking a deeply green landscape that included a pond. This view was a cherry on top of the sweet, sweet day. We also found a quirky sculpture of a bear on which were painted dozens of fish. What an odd creation. We called it a day and got on the road. And so ended our book odyssey.

Nick Porcella studies English at Clark University, Worcester, Massachusetts, and intends to teach high school. His interests include Herman Melville, rap music, photography, and writing. He is completing a memoir, Getting to Say Goodbye. See more of his work here.

So sings Brian Warren, front man of the San Diego band Weatherbox, on “Pagan Baby,” a track from the band’s 2014 release, Flies In All Directions.

Triple crown records

Cocky? Coy? Disingenuous? Who can say? But it’s true, and this latest album proves it.

Weatherbox is most often labeled a “punk rock” band, but the loosely used label doesn’t do the band justice. While Weatherbox most certainly has punk roots, they blend a wide variety of styles into their unique sound, which ranges from the mellowness of the acoustic to blistering, chaotic rock, and even some synth-rock (see ‘Bathin’ In the Fuss’). Over it all hover Warren’s introspective, sometimes brooding lyrics.

Weatherbox has never had a solid lineup. With constantly changing band members, Warren has done the grunt work of structuring and writing all the songs, and just filling in the gaps with people who can play his songs, which demand experienced, advanced musicians.

Flies In All Directions is a great display of the band’s versatility. The album opens with pop-punk anthem “Pagan Baby,” a jam-packed, two minutes and twenty-eight seconds of tight, relentlessly loud rock. After just one listen to this song you’ll be sure to conjure plenty of dirty, confused looks in response to your singing along to lyrics: “It’s such a nice day, let’s stay inside/ it’s such a nice day; we’ve got a lot of time/ nice day.” Warren sings seemingly senseless lyrics as catchy as anything by McCartney or Springsteen.

Warren uses his lyrics and music as a sort of therapy to flush out the demons of mental health that he has had to overcome.

brian warren / triple crown records

He details this in an article in MTV’s Buzzworthy: “I was convinced of awful delusions,” he said, referring to the time their first album, American Art, was released. He hallucinated about “men in disturbing prosthetics, caricatures of my friends but with sharp teeth and arched eyebrows. At another point I thought I was a ghost a million years in the future, where a holographic overlay of 2006 obscured reality and a semi-hostile robotic intelligence had replaced all of humanity.” In an interview with Interview Magazine he described his delusions as part of a series of intense nervous breakdowns he began to have while making his second album, The Cosmic Drama.

As to Flies In All Directions: “This record is taking all of those delusions and making a storyline that’s positive.”The epiphany came after a nervous breakdown he suffered in 2009. “I was at this party standing there, it probably didn’t look like much, but in my head all the years of delusions sort of coalesced into this one story,” he said.

Warren tried to communicate the torment of psychosis in his interview with Interview Magazine: “it’s weird because I’d have to explain psychosis, which is a really hard thing to do. All these delusions are created and then the psychotic mind can easily shove them into this one category.” His lyrics seem better suited to express the feeling of being plagued by hallucinations and psychosis. In “The Fresh Prints of Bill Ayers” he sings, “And I received a deleted memory of you and me/ On the run from a team of sickening police forever/ We used to have such fun together/ Do you remember?”

But it’s not all about Warren and his struggles. On the album’s captivating closing song, “Love Me A Good Microcosm,” he sings: “Cause you can glorify the Old Pages and be responsible for the New Cages/ Or you can say ‘to hell with me’ and you can get creative,” detailing the damaging effects obeying dated religious texts have on society, including the loss of critical thinking.

Weatherbox has made a triumphant step forward in the evolution of its sound with Flies In All Directions. We see the band tackle thirteen tracks and craft each with precise attention to detail. Warren told Interview Magazine he even took some classes on using audio software so he could communicate in the studio the exact sound he wanted. Did it pay off? I would say yes, definitely. While the metaphorical lyrics and abrasive, dark tones of songs like “The Drones” and “Ghost Malls” may be hard for the unfamiliar listener to get into, the album has plenty of welcoming songs as catchy as those of any indie/punk/pop/rock band.

Most things unfold gradually, and at times the unfolding is beautiful, like that of a flower bud. At other times, it just hurts. Watching you slowly slip away from us is like saying goodbye to you every day. The pain never ends. Not that I would want it to.

There are so many things I would say to you if you could understand. I say them anyway, holding onto the tiniest sliver of hope that one day everything will click again, that the broken puzzle piece will repair, itself and you’ll be yourself once more, cracking jokes constantly and telling me a war story for the thousandth time.

I’d rather hear the story about nana making a blueberry pie. Nana was trying to impress your parents the first time she met them and tried to make the perfect pie, only to forget the sugar. Your words paint the priceless expression on your father’s face as he took the first bitter bite. The story always left everyone in hysterics.

Why is it that some things stick with us like that? The simplest story becomes a staple for conversation and a filler of silences, told for half a century without becoming tiresome. Other things pass us by like autumn leaves in the wind, never to be thought or spoken of again.

Most things are autumn leaves for you these days.

I can’t quite remember when it started. There was no distinct first time. Not like the first time a baby walks, the first day of summer, or the first sentence a child reads. It occurred slowly with no clear beginning. It just all happened. One day you were your regular self. And then you couldn’t remember certain details or facts. And then you had episodes. Fits of rage and confusion. They were after you. The nurses were cops, foreign soldiers, or some other enemy. And now, well, now I’m not sure if you even know who I am. On the good days I am the girl with the car; you ask, “Can you take me out of here?” On the bad days–I don’t know who I am on the bad days.

I don’t remember a beginning, but I do remember the first day I visited you in the hospital. You’d been there before, hip and knee surgeries mostly, but this time was different, somehow. I could feel it when I walked into your room. We talked about the simple things at first: the weather, the view from your window, how I was doing at school. You struggled for words, while I did most of the talking. And then I found the light switch. The war. I don’t remember how or why I brought it up but bam, there it was, the key to conversation. Once you started going I couldn’t stop you, and I loved every second of it. Somewhere in your mind, you found the pieces of memories and stuck them together. I felt bad when I had to leave but I feel worse now that I know that was the best day there would be left.

If I listen close enough, I can hear you telling my favorite war story. You and your buddies were nearing an island and, being the curious guy you still are, you wanted to see the islanders. There was just one problem, there weren’t enough binoculars to go around. That, however would never stop you. You quickly realized that you could use the scope on your gun to better see. You failed to realize that this would alarm the villagers and send them into a panic.

I’m not really sure why that one’s my favorite, but it always made me laugh uncontrollably. Maybe it’s because while other people only see the harm and pain in war, you found the humor. You never have once told me a sad war story. Even the ones in which people die contain humor. You’d get that look in your eye and say flatly, “he died,” before glossing it over with humor or moving on to the next story, never dwelling too long on the sadness none of us wants to focus on.

Now, you’re in a constant state of confusion. I wonder what year you’re in. Sometimes it’s in the 1940’s and other times the present. I wish I knew who you think I am. You’ve lost a lot, but the one thing you hardly ever lose is your attitude. Sure, sometimes you get frustrated, but who wouldn’t if they were told everything they thought was true is wrong? Most of the time you’re the same cheery, gleeful guy I’ve known since I was born. The one who played Barbies with me on the living room floor, the one who built me a swing set, and taught me to swim. The one who has something to give everyone, even if it’s just a good laugh.

No, there was no distinct beginning or a list of firsts to this period in your life. But there will be a long list of lasts. I see them beginning and I’d give anything to put them on pause, but I know in the end you’ll be happier and freed of your pain. It started with the last day you were aware of what was happening. Then, there was the last day you got out of bed. And, today, today you stopped speaking in full sentences.

As I sit by your side on these days I’m thankful that you taught me your sense of humor. Even in these dark days that connect our family, we laugh. Because how could we make it through if we weren’t laughing with you as you “sew” the ripped thread on your blanket or only say “Hi!” to Amy and ignore everyone else? (I always knew she was the favorite.) Even on these dark days as the green leaves turn orange and red and slowly fall to the ground, you still provide us a ray of sunshine.

You always will.

***

Editor’s Note: William Edward Tormey Jr. passed away on October second 2014 at the age of 91.

Julia D’Arcy studies Communication Sciences and Disorders at Worcester State University in Worcester, Mass., and is working toward a masters in Speech Pathology. She enjoys reading, writing, and the beach.

Fingernail marks scratched into the walls, barred windows, and a shadowy figure trapped in the wallpaper trying to escape–Charlotte Perkins Gilman creates a Gothic masterpiece in her short story, “The Yellow Wallpaper.” Written in 1892, this story blurs the line between reality and perception by following the mental unraveling of a woman after she is placed on complete bed rest because of her nervous behavior. Confined in a room, denied recreation of any kind, the narrator is plagued by a ghost-like woman who is trapped in the yellow wallpaper. The story reads like a supernatural thriller, but much of it was actually taken from the “rest cure” that was imposed upon Gilman to treat her postpartum depression.

Indeed, the depictions of postpartum depression and postpartum psychosis in the story are so realistic that Gilman’s work is being used to teach modern psychology to medical students. At the Medical School of the University of Oklahoma, medical students can take a class entitled, “Helping Medical Students Understand Postpartum Psychosis Through the Prism of ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’ by Charlotte Perkins Gilman.” Dr. Phebe Tucker is a specialist in psychiatry and has been a professor at the University of Oklahoma since 1989. She was also one of the faculty members who developed this program, which combines literary analysis with a practical, medical purpose. Dr. Tucker, whose undergraduate degree was in English from the University of Berkley, believes that this form of teaching made the medical studies “more alive” for the students since they were able to directly empathize with a character that has a mental illness. According to Dr. Tucker, the transition from English to psychiatry was very natural. “The humanities blend with psychiatry since everyone has their own narrative,” she said.

The course aimed to reduce the stigma related to mental illness, to analyze doctor-patient relationships, and to teach students to be more empathetic as they experienced the author’s depression and psychosis. Students were also tasked with finding symptomatic “clues” about postpartum psychosis within Gilman’s text. About 160 medical students participated. According to Tucker, “Psychiatry students were receptive to this form of teaching and most were open-minded. However, some students are used to concrete studies and they get frustrated if the course was too abstract.” In order to challenge these students to think creatively, voluntary after school activities were offered. For example, book groups with faculty allowed students from the class to interact with literature and think creatively.

“The Yellow Wallpaper” is an important work because it changed the way that postpartum psychosis, now known as Peripartum Onset Mood Disorder, was treated and publicly perceived. Many psychological disorders with which modern doctors are familiar were largely unknown to Victorian physicians. As a result, terms like “hysteria” and “nervous depression” became all-encompassing diagnoses used for women experiencing anxiety or depression shortly after giving birth. The common treatment for such a state was the “rest cure.” Developed by Dr. Silas Weir Mitchell, the rest cure was a course of treatment in which the patient was instructed to completely relax and to take part in minimal physical activity. The rest cure emphasized isolation. In some cases, women were not allowed to read, write, leave their beds, or even feed themselves.

In 1885, Charlotte Perkins Gilman gave birth to a daughter, Katharine Beecher Stetson. Shortly after, Gilman began to experience extreme depression and was placed on Dr. Michel’s rest cure. As weeks passed, the isolation and physical restrictions amplified Gilman’s symptoms and the inability to write or read stifled her. She had no creative outlet in which she could express herself. She escaped through her vivid imagination, which exacerbated her anxiety and depression. It was only after Gilman refused to take part in the rest cure that she slowly began to show signs of improvement.

Years later, Gilman wrote “The Yellow Wallpaper” in order to show the failure of Dr. Mitchell’s treatment. The story also emphasizes the oppressive and sexist nature of a cure that gives male doctors complete authority while female patients are treated as fragile, emotional beings incapable of making their own decisions.

The narrator in “The Yellow Wallpaper” integrates Gilman’s real life experiences with the drama and terror of a Gothic novel. The woman in the story arrives at a beautiful mansion that she and her husband, John, are staying at for the summer in hopes that she will overcome her “nervous condition.” John, who is a doctor, places his wife on the rest cure and prevents her from taking walks in the garden, writing, or having visitors. With nothing else to do, the narrator contemplates the surroundings of her new room from the barred windows, scratched floor and nailed-down bed, to the hideous, torn yellow wallpaper that covers the walls. As the weeks of complete rest pass, the narrator’s anxiety and paranoia grow as she starts to see the image of a woman in the wallpaper. The narrator shifts from hating the wallpaper to appreciating it as she starts to empathize with the shadowy woman lurking in the paper. The conclusion of the story signifies the narrator’s final break from reality as she becomes the woman in the wallpaper and finally breaks free from the wall and her husband. The damage to the room was actually caused by the narrator as she crawled around scratching the floor and tearing the wallpaper.

According to Dr. Tucker, the medical students who analyzed the story were trained to search for clues that would establish a diagnosis such as the protagonist’s concentration problems, lack of confidence, sleep disturbances, and psychotic elements. As a result, they concluded that in modern medicine the protagonist would be diagnosed with major depression with psychotic features and Peripartum Onset Mood Disorder. Dr. Tucker explained that the disorder typically occurs during pregnancy or during the four weeks following birth. It usually consists of a major depressive episode and can be accompanied by psychotic symptoms. Hormone imbalance is the cause, although some individuals may be born with a genetic predisposition. The narrator of the story also has psychotic breaks from reality. The narrator’s hallucinations of the woman behind bars in the wallpaper, sudden mood swings, paranoid suspicions about her husband and his sister as well as her hyperactivity of tearing the wallpaper and constantly crawling all demonstrate the psychosis. The narrator’s baby is only mentioned once in the story when the narrator says that she wants to be with the baby but that it makes her so “nervous.” This signifies the difficulty a sufferer may have in bonding with her child.

Gilman wanted to share her painful experiences with the public in order to shed light on the harmful results of Dr. Mitchell’s rest cure. In fact, after Gilman published her story, Dr. Mitchell eliminated the rest cure and developed new treatments. In modern psychiatry a combination of medications and therapy would be used to treat the protagonist of “The Yellow Wallpaper.” According to Dr. Tucker, if the protagonist was her patient, she would recommend interpersonal psycho-therapy to help the woman assert herself and develop more confidence, couples therapy to create a more supportive relationship with her doctor husband, support groups, and medication that would help her function on a daily basis. Journaling would be encouraged.

Underneath its Gothic dressing, “The Yellow Wallpaper” tells the candid story of an emotionally unraveling woman whose return to health is stifled by a misunderstanding of psychological disorders and the oppressive patriarchal society of her time.
By revealing her own struggles to the public, Gilman unleashed her own “woman in the wallpaper” and ultimately changed the way that women with postpartum depression were treated.

Contributing Editor and journalist Sloane Perron is a seniot at Anna Maria College, Paxton, Mass., studying English and Business. She will present her Honors Thesis, “The Many Faces of Guinevere,” at Keene State College, Keene, New Hampshire, this spring.

Knife Party, as far as side projects go, has gotten really big. The electronic music act features Rob Swire and Gareth McGrillen, two members of the Australian band Pendulum. They started Pendulum back in 2002 as rock and metal musicians dabbling in computer music, and have since achieved major success with their signature mix of rock and electronic music.

But in 2011 Swire posted a 20-second clip titled “Not Pendulum” featuring a glitchy, rumbling dance track that had more in common with the work of electronic dance music producer Skrillex than his old work. That clip became Knife Party. Since then, the duo has shifted attention from Pendulum to Knife Party, releasing three EPs (four-track mini-albums) that augment the violent, distorted synths of electro house and dubstep with a goofy sense of humor and a love for cheesy sci-fi/horror flicks. If you watched Breaking Bad, you’ve probably heard the Knife Party song “Bonfire,” that wall-shaking love child of reggae and dubstep that graced the fifth season.

You can hear the musicians’ bending and blending of genres in songs like “EDM Death Machine,” which kicks off with, “In the future, nobody will drop the bass / No one will do the Harlem Shake,” then continues by remixing “Sandstorm,” that trance song that has never stopped playing since 1999. And then there’s “Centipede,” which starts with a 40-second clip about giant killer centipedes hunting tarantulas. Yup.

Now the duo is back with a full album, Abandon Ship. And it’s amazing.

About half of the album is classic Knife Party fare, the sort of music that will either get you dancing or give you a headache. At the album’s loudest, heavily processed drums pound out steady, powerful rhythms, meaty synth chords flood your ears, and bass sounds, metal guitars, and robot speech shake down your house. Goofy audio clips dispersed in the music make you laugh as hard as you dance. Imagine Transformers 8: MegaÜber Dance Fight taking place in a haunted house in space, add some lasers, and you’ll have idea of where this album can go.

But not even the most turned-up tracks here stay full throttle all the time. The duo doesn’t shy away from extended interludes where they replace heavy drums and violent bass with smooth, liquid-feeling chords and staccato melodies that bounce around your head like blinking lights on a computer. This occasional mellowness is a good thing, because a perpetual tsunami of sound would drive the heads of all but the most dedicated ravers into the nearest brick wall. That said, every track here is still an all-out dance number, so you may need to stop halfway through the hour of music to catch your breath.

Some of the tracks throw the raging-robot sound out the window, exploring vastly different styles. The first track, “Reconnect,” introduces the album with a cinematic flair somewhere between Star Trek and Pirates of the Caribbean. Then, in “Begin Again,” the musicians return to their roots in Pendulum, with light background synths, blaring trumpets, and Rob Swire belting out cliche yet catchy lyrics. But the most out-there song–by far–is “Superstar.” It’s disco. Sung by Bryn Christopher, the track has all the funky guitars and retro synths your heart desires, and I can’t stop dancing to it.

The album is dotted with little jokes to spice things up. In “EDM Trend Machine,” the duo plays brief pieces of stereotypical rave music, then, with a cartoonish vinyl scratch, cut to a completely different sound. The house track “404” features error-message sounds from decade-old computers. “Micropenis” features a 30-second interlude seemingly ripped out of an NES game and narrated by a text-to-speech generator. And, well, it’s called “Micropenis.”

As Abandon Ship released, Rob Swire tweeted that he was happy just to make it, even if it sold poorly and he and Gareth McGrillen would “have to sell organs for food.” And that shows in the album itself (well, maybe not the organ-selling bit). It’s lovingly crafted, but it’s never too serious not to have fun with.

You can download this album via iTunes, Google Play, or Beatport, buy a CD via the musicians’ site, or stream the entire album for free on their SoundCloud page (https://soundcloud.com/knifepartyinc).

Ajey Pandey is a 12th grade student at Mass Academy of Math and Science, Worcester, Mass. He enjoys writing, making music, and especially writing about music.